


take me to the stars

by Anonymous



Series: real love [2]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:56:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21958861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “What will you be doing?” Lando pulls his shoes on, and he feels—he knows—there’s an absolutely idiotic line coming next. It’s practically condensing in the air.Carlos pockets the car keys, stretches in his seat, and turns to pin Lando down with a look alone. “I’m doingyou.”It’s such a stupid fucking line that it shouldn’t work, but it does, like it did the last eight times Carlos used it.A direct sequel tocut through the clouds, break the ceiling
Relationships: Lando Norris/Carlos Sainz Jr
Series: real love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580821
Comments: 23
Kudos: 136
Collections: Anonymous





	take me to the stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redpaint](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpaint/gifts).

> for nat, because there would be no daddy kink here without you
> 
> and for the whole-ass banterzone because you're all you. <3

If Lando is being honest, he should have slept longer last night. He’s paying penance this afternoon, as he half dozes in the passenger seat of Carlos’ car, because if he doesn’t move soon, the crick in his neck will only get worse. It’s the decidedly unglamorous Megane today, not the 720S, but the family car is better for this sort of trip. Lando’s shoes are kicked off in the footwell and he’s curled up and leaning against the window, the glass cool against one cheek.

Carlos’ voice accompanies the smooth clicking of the turn signal. “Wake up, sleepy.”

“Sure,” Lando grunts tiredly, shifting to sit upright. His muscles immediately thank him as he tips his head to break the crick in his neck, and the crack is audible.

“That is gross,” Carlos says with a wince.

Lando squints but doesn’t move, watching Carlos’ hands slide over the curve of the steering wheel, turning the car smoothly down the highway’s exit ramp. “Home soon?” he mutters.

Carlos hums quietly and taps the dashboard a few times, switching off the music that had been quietly playing. All of a sudden, the road noise is louder. “You are just coming to my place,” Carlos confirms, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Have you got any plans for the rest of the day?” Lando asks, watching absently as they navigate the increasing traffic.

“Hmm…” Carlos half shrugs. “No meetings for a few days, just gym and some paperwork.”

Lando sighs loudly. There’s no use replying to _ that. _

Carlos looks over at him, finally. _ “What?” _

“Just wondering,” Lando replies innocently, tugging up his hood and shrouding himself in its shade. He’ll probably nap again at Carlos’ place, wake up when it’s dark, and spend an unreasonable amount of time watching some movies, and go to bed when the sky’s almost light again. The ritual holiday fuck-up of a sleep schedule begins.

Carlos hums a wordless response again, and they don’t talk for a few minutes, until Carlos is slowing the car in a side-street. “But I will clear my schedule for today,” he adds casually, but he ruins the effect by glancing over at Lando, who’s well cuddled into his own sweater and watching Carlos as closely as Carlos is watching the street. The eye contact is fractional, but it sends a little twist through Lando’s stomach, because there’s a glint in Carlos’ eye that’s less _ wholesome homecoming _ and more like _ remembering every word that crossed his lips last night. _

In spite of himself, Lando’s blushing. “Something else came up?” he asks, though it takes an unconscionable effort to keep his voice even.

“Some other plans,” Carlos replies, gliding to a stop in his driveway and shifting into neutral. He doesn’t look up as he pulls the parking brake.

“What will you be doing?” Lando pulls his shoes on, and he feels—he _ knows_—there’s an absolutely idiotic line coming next. It’s practically condensing in the air.

Carlos pockets the car keys, stretches in his seat, and turns to pin Lando down with a look alone. “I’m doing _ you.” _

It’s such a stupid fucking line that it shouldn’t work, but it does, like it did the last eight times Carlos used it. Their gazes meet and Lando’s heart burns and he licks his lips, and he wants to crawl across the centre console and into the warm lap on the other side, and land his lips on Carlos’ soft mouth. But there’s a perverse little part of him which knows that’s exactly what Carlos wants, and Carlos is going to get everything he wants _ extremely _ soon, so Lando’s only modicum of control lies not in the doing but the denying.

But he’s an idiot, so he leans across the armrest and offers his mouth for Carlos to kiss just once—a short, tight, demanding but casual kiss that says no words but promises so much more—and pulls back, out of breath anyway. “Okay,” he agrees, feeling foolish but sounding self-assured.

“Good boy,” Carlos breathes, holding him in agonising eye contact for three seconds too long. Then he opens the driver side door and steps out, and Lando’s stomach wrenches.

Fuck.

He gulps a breath of cold early winter air and slides out of the car, gently pushing the door shut and moving to grab his bags from the back seat, but Carlos has come around to this side of the car and is crowding him against the bodywork panels, and the garment bag in his hand drops to the asphalt as Carlos slides his hands up Lando’s chest, shoving him back. Even though the sweater it turns him on, the dial is cranked way too high, and his hood slips down onto his shoulders as his head falls back, Carlos pushing closer to nuzzle at his neck. He’s tensed for a bite or the obscene slide of a hot tongue on his skin, but neither come and Carlos backs off, leaving Lando draped shamelessly across the side of that inelegant _ hatchback. _ To be not touched is more degrading than it should be.

Carlos has already shouldered his bag and goes to let himself in, while Lando picks up his dropped suit and other baggage before locking the car and following. He can’t think straight or put two thoughts together, but he’s through the front door, used the washroom, and returned to the entryway to pick up his luggage when Carlos grabs his waist from behind and Lando drops every single bag he’s holding. His breath catches even as he melts into the arms of the man holding him, Carlos’ grip pulling him closer until Lando is backed up close to his chest. Lando tips his head back onto Carlos' shoulder and feels soft lips ghost over his ear.

Carlos almost laughs. "Hello, cutie."

"Hello," Lando replies a little breathlessly.

“You remember what I told you last night, no? Or were you too much in a passion to hear what I was saying,” Carlos murmurs, and his breath on Lando’s skin sends a shiver down his back.

Lando nods quickly, shakes his head, and finally bites out a tense “yes.”

“And what did I say?” Carlos asks lowly, pushing his hands under the hem of Lando's hoodie, absently dragging warm fingertips across Lando’s hipbone.

“You said,” chokes out Lando, “you said you’re going to fuck me as soon as you can.” He twists around in Carlos’ grasp, slinging his arms around Carlos’ neck and burying his face in the man’s shoulder. Cool hands immediately slide to his waist, gently stroking his slim form before resting so casually but _ so _dangerously on his lower back.

“Is that all?” demands Carlos in the softest tone, but Lando’s close enough to hear the bite in it. “That is all I told you?”

Lando’s glad his face is hidden, because he flushes red hot as he grits his teeth to continue. “You said—you know exactly what you want, and you don’t even want me on your bed.”

Carlos reaches up to cup Lando’s cheek, stepping back and gripping his jaw and blinking those absolutely criminal eyelashes at him. “Perfect,” he says, and the word alone is a luxury. “And that is all you heard?” he asks hoarsely.

Lando’s gaze drops and he takes one deep breath before meeting Carlos’ eyes and perfectly reciting back: “it’s been a while since you fucked me on the sofa, maybe just across the arm, and if I’m _ really fucking good, _ the wall is fine.” His voice is tight, pitching higher and cracking as he repeats the promise he’s been running through his head all day. Carlos’ grin in response is no less than filthy.

“Fuck, baby, you’re _ perfect,” _ he swears, and he’s tipping Lando’s head up again, pulling him close, thumb dragging across his lips, and finally gracing Lando’s begging mouth with a kiss that’s everything portended by the first one, in the car. And Lando’s touch-starved after the trip, so the scrape of Carlos’ stubble is a welcome supplement to just how alive he feels when his world is reduced to nothing but the heat of his mouth, the taste of Carlos’ tongue, the press of their chests and the scent of Shiseido aftershave and the way he’s allowed to curl greedy fingers into Carlos’ perfect fucking hair.

He’s whimpering, he knows he must be, but it doesn't matter because Carlos is dragging his jaw open and fitting his lips against Lando's desperate gasps, pulling every ragged breath from his lungs and fucking that burning hot tongue into his mouth. A kiss with Carlos never promises equality, and that's just how Lando likes it. Right now the arms cradling him are the only thing holding him up as the nudge of Carlos' chin reminds him exactly who's got weight to throw around here. Carlos is such a _ pushy _ kisser, and when Lando's tongue flicks against his teeth Carlos lands a tiny bite on the tip and Lando dissolves on the spot.

"You are such a good boy for me," Carlos mutters into his mouth, and he responds to Lando's whine with a sharp bite on his lower lip.

He shudders, pulling away fractionally. "Only for you, Carlos."

Carlos slips his hands under Lando’s hoodie again, tracing fingers up the dip of his spine, sliding palms along the planes of his lower back. “I want this off,” Carlos demands. A peek of Lando’s skin reveals itself as his top rides up around Carlos’ hands, and Carlos has no idea why he’s feeling so salacious over an inch of stomach. He’s not some _ juvenile, _ for christ’s sake, he’s a very experienced 25 year old. He’s seen this before. He’s seen Lando’s particularly salacious inch of stomach a few hundred times by now. But god, he wants to see it again.

Lando raises one eyebrow and doesn’t break eye contact as he pushes his fingers thought Carlos’ hair. “Then take it off… daddy,” Lando teases, and the spark in Carlos’ eyes is _ so _ gratifying.

“Oh, is that what you are doing now?” He grips Lando’s waist. “You do not have to ask me. When I want something from you,” he says quietly, leaning in, “I take it _ myself.” _

It's Lando's turn to blush now, goosebumps traveling up his chest as Carlos tugs at his top, raising his arms to help slip the hoodie off his shoulders. He feels a bit silly for not wearing a shirt underneath, but all he'd planned for the day was maximum comfort for a lazy road trip home. Being attentively undressed hadn't explicitly been on the menu.

Judging by Carlos' gaze, there is most definitely a menu, though, and Lando is most definitely on it.

“Come on, it’s been a long day,” Lando suggests, kicking off his shoes and tugging Carlos from the entryway round the corner to the living room. It’s small but it’s decorated properly, like a real adult’s house with picture frames and mood lighting and shit, and Lando banishes thoughts of his own messy place to focus on pushing Carlos onto the couch and crawling into his lap.

Before he can speak again, Carlos’ mouth is on his, an arm wrapped around Lando’s back to hold him so close, and the other curled round the back of his neck, cradling him just so while scattering the softest, most innocent kisses on Lando’s lips and jaw and cheeks. It’s disgustingly wholesome and Lando can’t take it, he’s too horny for this and Carlos’ ogling earlier had promised more than easy kisses.

“Stop,” he gasps, pulling back and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Carlos releases him instantly. “Are you okay?” he asks quickly, plainly.

“This is brilliant,” Lando begins tentatively, resting his hands on Carlos’ shoulders.

“We can stop any—”

“But I like _ this,” _ Lando amends, slipping off the sofa and nudging Carlos’ knees apart to settle between his feet on the floor. He slides a hand firmly up the man’s thigh, Carlos jerking and then relaxing into the touch. God, Lando thinks, these _ muscles. _

Carlos swears, something guttural in Spanish that Lando doesn’t understand, but his dick doesn’t seem to require listening comprehension. “If you also want,” Lando adds, idly running his fingertips across the soft knit of Carlos’ sweatpants, and he glances up at Carlos through the loose curls grazing his forehead.

It’s a killer look, and Carlos can feel his cock getting embarrassingly twitchy at the sight of wide eyes turned up toward him and pink lips so tantalisingly parted. “Fuck, baby,” he breathes. Carlos reaches out to pull one curl on Lando’s forehead, then cups his chin to tip his head up. “Trust me, I _ want.” _

Lando doesn’t smile, doesn’t giggle, doesn’t reply, he just smooths his hands along Carlos’ thighs, thumbs running along the inner sides with a pressure that verges on ticklish but also twists something deep in his bones, and Carlos’ legs fall open loosely as he shifts his hips forward, his hands finding their grip in Lando’s hair.

“Thank you,” Lando purrs, hooking his fingers on the waistband of Carlos’ sweats, and he leans in, feeling like some sort of awkward puppy, as he follows his heart’s desire and noses up the front of Carlos’ shirt to leave a long-overdue sloppy kiss on his stomach, right where it’s soft from relaxation, and smooth and warm because Carlos is _ always _ smooth and warm.

That was _ so _ unsexy, he decides after having done it, but Carlos hisses anyway and his hips twitch, and Lando slides his palm across the front of Carlos’ pants as if there’s nothing massively out of the ordinary there. He leans in again to nip at the neat bow Carlos has tied with the drawstring of those omnipresent Puma sweats and undoes the knot with two tugs of his teeth, and from there it’s a breathless team effort to shove them down along with the boxers bunched beneath them. Lando wraps his hand around Carlos’ thickening cock and it’s a dizzy rush as he _ finally _ gets what he wanted all day and honestly, all last night, too.

Carlos cradles Lando’s head so gently and Lando peeks up at him, slowly licking his lips. Lando knows exactly what he’s doing as he traces Carlos’ hipbone with one hand, and drags a slow grip to the base of his cock with the other. Lando takes a breath, doesn’t break eye contact, and decides he might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.

“You’re so fucking big, daddy,” he whispers on a soft exhale. Carlos tenses, and Lando can feel it through the hand in his hair. “I’ll do anything you want,” he confesses, and he means it.

“Anything?” Carlos asks intently. It’s such a game, but he could never give up this chase.

“Always.” Lando lets his voice drop to a whisper again. _ "Daddy." _

"Fuck," Carlos bites out. He wants to pick up Lando right then and there, pin him down on the couch and make him scream, but he doesn't. He gently brushes the hair from the boy's forehead and traces his cheekbone with a soft thumb. “I want your mouth, baby, I want you to touch me like you always do.” His voice lowers and Lando feels it in his chest. “I want you to make daddy feel good.”

Lando’s fucked before his lips even touch Carlos, but god, he’ll do his best to meet the order.

He dips his head and licks a slow, sloppy stripe up Carlos’ shaft, lingering on the head before wrapping his lips around it, and he’s good at blowjobs but he’s not _ great; _ he’s pretty sure Carlos will always outclass him. Just like the way they talk, Carlos is exact and careful and everything he does with his mouth is perfect on the first try, while Lando—it’s messy and shallow but no one can say there’s any lack of enthusiasm. When pressed, he can perform more precisely but the effort chokes him up, and there might be tears if he’s truly pushed.

The difference is that the press laughs when he fucks up the enunciation of some ubiquitous three-syllable word on air, but Carlos will gaze at him with the same enchanted look, both when Lando talks and when Lando sucks him off.

Carlos’ hand still grips the back of his head, not pushing, but the twitch of his grasp is more of a suggestion: _ deeper please, a little faster please, right there, yeah, keep your tongue right there, _ and his breath catches when Lando hollows his cheeks and sucks just a little harder, because there aren’t many things as picturesque as his baby kneeling soft and needy between his lax, spread thighs, bobbing up and down on his cock, flushed and desecrated with the gleam of precum and saliva on his lips. Lando’s always been hands-off with his blowjobs, so he grips Carlos’ hips, always tugging him closer, but he just grabs Lando’s hand in his own and wraps their fingers together, and the gesture holds him as closely as any embrace. He’s not mind-blown or epiphanic, but Lando’s touch makes him twitch and pulls a steady stream of hushed praise and desire from his lips with a comfort usually lent only to the most recited of prayers.

“Fuck, baby, you are so perfect,” he breathes, and _ caress _ isn’t gentle enough a word for the way he cups his hand on Lando’s neck. “Such a good boy, you’re my good boy, you’re perfect,” he swears. “I want to keep you here, you are mine, to hold and to touch, and to love, and to fuck—” Lando moans, and he feels it. He runs his fingers through curly hair and tightens his grip. "Yeah, you like that?" Lando whines, and Carlos rolls his hips. He feels the boy's throat tighten around him but doesn't back off to let him take a breath. "You like being daddy's perfect, perfect little fucktoy, don't you," and Lando surfaces with a gasp and a sob, and every inch of visible skin is flushed pink.

"Carlos," he begs, "you can't just _ say _ things like that." He flushes further as Carlos reaches for his face again, running smooth fingers across his cheeks and eventually tugging him up, to which Lando responds by crawling into his lap again.

"I can do whatever I want, cutie," Carlos says lowly, ghosting his hands almost reverently across Lando's ribs and folding him close in his arms to kiss his neck. Lando whimpers and falls bonelessly into the embrace, wrapping his arms around Carlos' neck and burying his face in the man's shoulder.

"I know, but it kills me and you _ know _ it," he bursts out, idly scratching at the knit of Carlos' sweater. He pulls back to take his turn to cup Carlos' face in his hands. "If you want to say things like that," he begins tentatively, "then you should follow up on them, obviously." He squishes the stubbly cheeks in his hands. "And while I'm asking for things, I want you to take your shirt off, too."

"You do not get to ask for things around here right now," Carlos replies. He tugs up his sweatpants again, then stands up in one swift motion, hoisting the boy in his arms as effortlessly as a kitten. "Do you understand?" Lando nods as he's deposited unceremoniously back onto the couch, with one inelegant bounce, and Carlos leans down to pin him back with a hand on each shoulder.

Carlos raises an eyebrow and Lando reads: _ all good? _ He nods back almost imperceptibly. _ Absolutely. _

That's all Carlos needs.

"There is only one man in control at a time here," he bites out, "and seeing as I have a promise from yesterday to collect, right now that is me." His grip tightens and Lando winces, but nods. There's the beginning of fear in his eyes, and Carlos can't lie: it's going straight to his dick. "So I have one question for you."

Lando squirms, licking his lips nervously. "Yes?"

Carlos is so close now; Lando can count his eyelashes and smell the spearmint gum he'd been chewing in the car. He runs a thumb along Lando's collarbone with a gentleness that belies how charged the moment is. "How good," he demands in a whisper, "have you been? What do you deserve from me now?"

Lando exhales shakily. He hates this question. Carlos wins either way, which, he supposes, is the point. Which, he also supposes, is also why he thinks about this 24/7 and gets a boner every time literally anyone calls him a good boy, for whatever reason. Which, he supposes, is also probably why he's rock hard right now. But that won't help him answer.

"I'm good enough to take anything you want to give," he says boldly, but he's shrinking under Carlos' relentless eyes. He's practically marking territory, and Lando shivers as his gaze travels over bare skin and lean shoulders.

"Then be a good boy for daddy and get those off," Carlos murmurs, nodding at the rumpled sweatpants Lando's obviously pitching a tent in. He doesn't move as Lando scrambles to obey, merely watches his every move with a spark in his eye that's a little carnal. "That's good," he says softly, pushing aside the discarded clothes and lifting Lando into his arms again. He presses a kiss to Lando's temple as the boy wraps arms around his neck, and there's nothing as perfect as the self-conscious blush of his fully naked boyfriend.

"Shh, you really are beautiful," Carlos soothes, stepping lightly around the room with his most precious belonging cradled in his arms. "So beautiful you know I cannot resist you," he continues, pausing in front of a mirror and turning so that Lando has no choice but to see himself. He sees someone smaller than he should be in Carlos' arms, thoroughly pink, and not quite as perfect as Carlos sees. "So beautiful that one day I will install one of these in the bedroom so you can watch yourself get fucked and know exactly what I see." The noise Lando makes is indecent, but Carlos ignores it and does a half twirl away from the mirror. "Someone so beautiful," he says silkily, "that I have no option but to fuck you against the nearest solid surface until you are crying for me. And you know what to call me."

"Daddy," Lando replies quietly, obediently. His heart is racing, though, the internal chaos anything but quiet as every signal in his brain moves to say _ oh holy fuck, finally. _

"Perfect," Carlos praises, his voice dropping. He sets down the boy in his arms, gripping him steadily until he's sure on his feet. "Say it again," he demands, placing a hand on Lando's chest and backing him step by step into the wall.

"Daddy," he repeats, and this time it's a whine. "Please, don't make me wait longer," he begs, clutching at Carlos' sweater and desperately dragging it up, exposing his toned abdomen. Lando can never decide if it drives him wild because he wants to look like that, or if he's just plain horny. It's probably both, and he can't keep his hands off of Carlos, clutching him close and desperately kissing every part of his jaw that he can touch, restlessly tugging at that horrible sweater until neither of them can take it anymore and Carlos yanks it off over his head, tossing it away. He steps right into Lando's space, fitting their bodies together with a perfect warmth and _ almost _ all the skin contact Lando could desire as futile but heartmelting kisses are pressed into his hair.

"Baby," Carlos groans into the curls, his hands burning across Lando's waist and hips, and Lando doesn't even have time to feel self-conscious about his absolutely exposed hard-on because Carlos' sweats aren't hiding any secrets either.

"Fuck, I thought I got these off of you once already," Lando says indistinctly, tugging at the waistband and giving up to grope Carlos' cock through his pants. "Get rid of these, _ please," _ he fusses, and the trousers join the sweater on the floor, utterly forgotten.

Lando isn't sure how he's made it through the five touch-starved seconds it takes Carlos to grab lube, but then there's a hand on his neck and a burning kiss pressed to his mouth before he's summarily spun around and shoved up against the wall again, this time facing it, and the chill of the surface sends a shiver down his back. Carlos' hands are everywhere, squeezing his waist and groping his ass, and there's one gentle kiss between his shoulder blades before Carlos rakes fingernails down his back.

It's always almost scary when Carlos grabs him, there's more force in the man's hands than Lando would ever admit: he doesn't lose all those play wrestling matches just because it turns him on to be laughed at when he's pinned to the floor, or the couch, or the grass. (But he has to admit it still turns him on.) What really makes his stomach burn is all the unused strength he can feel in the man's arms, the current traveling through his skin that tells him Carlos is always holding back.

"Please, just—Carlos," he whines incoherently, his cheek pressed to the wall and the broad contact across his chest and shoulders helping to balance him. He rolls his hips, pressing back into Carlos' grip on his waist, and moans an imperceptibly exaggerated _ "Fuck me, daddy," _ and the obscene groan in reply is the best sound he's heard this year.

"You do not have to ask again," Carlos breathes into his ear, and Lando hears a plasticky click, feels a warm hand grab his ass and slick fingers pressing cautiously but deliberately against his hole.

Lando's trembling with anticipation. "It's not my first time, Carlos, hurry _ up," _ he fusses, and he knows if Carlos was any less desperate himself, that kind of back-talk would earn him an agonising time out. But Carlos _ is _ desperate, quickly fucking him with two fingers, an arm wrapped around the boy's chest to support him.

"Good boy, you are _ such _ a good boy," Carlos says encouragingly, and he leans in to kiss Lando's neck, leaving a trail of pink splotches across the soft skin. "Lando, you are so beautiful like this," he murmurs into the crook of his neck.

"Thank you—daddy," Lando whispers, whining through a shuddering breath and leaning into the touch, stretching up to stand on his toes. "Fuck, please," he pants, squeezing his eyes shut and vainly gripping at the wall for support. "I want you inside me," he begs, "I want—"

He's cut off as Carlos adds a third finger and slams him into the wall with a shoulder. "I know what you want," Carlos says, and his voice drops. "And I do not care what you want right now," he says lowly, fiercely, "you are going to be a good boy for me, right?" He presses into him deeper, harder, curling his fingers in the practiced way he _ knows _ drives Lando hysterical, and is rewarded with a broken sob and a tremor tearing through the thin body in his hands. "Fuck, just like that, baby," he murmurs approvingly, his cock straining even harder at the breathless obscenities Lando can't hold back.

"Please daddy, I'm ready, I'll do anything," he chokes out, twisting to look over his shoulder at Carlos, who catches the adoring, glassy-eyed glance and responds with a fierce grin of his own. "Anything," Lando repeats desperately, and the word is holy.

"Anything," Carlos echoes, pulling his fingers out and stepping in closer to press his cock up against Lando's ass. "You feel so good," he growls, not shy with praise. .

"Just for you," comes the short, breathless reply. He leans into Carlos, rolling his hips back with a pornographic efficiency, but the whimpering from his throat is all real.

"Mm… no, stay there, baby," Carlos commands, pushing Lando back against the wall and turning away to grab the lube again.

"I need you, Carlos," Lando begs, and it's a relief when Carlos steps back into his personal space and meets his lips with a kiss. "I want you to use me." His voice cracks.

"You are such a needy little slut," Carlos scolds breathlessly, but he's not too rough as he shoves Lando back and wraps a hand loosely around his own cock, lining it up and pressing into him.

There's a muffled sob in the room. _ "Fuck," _ Lando cries, wincing. It's perfect and Carlos knows just how to angle his hips to fit him just right and Lando's not going to tell him but his proficiency is _ so fucking hot. _ Lando's grateful for the heavy press of Carlos' body against his back, propping him up, otherwise he'd be brought to his knees. "Fuck, I'm only a slut for _ you." _

"Such a good boy," Carlos says breathlessly, briefly lost in the bliss of hot, soft skin against his own. All the games, all the teasing, all the grabbing and touching and god damned ugly metaphors—it's all for this. It's just he and Lando at the end of the chase, where they always end up: skin on skin with Lando's cries and Carlos' praise and more kisses than anyone will count.

Carlos' hand pins him upright, and Lando's straining to keep on the tips of his toes as he's fucked deliberately into the wall. "I love you, Carlos—"

"That is not what I told you to call me," Carlos bites out, suddenly deepening his strokes, and Lando's suddenly _ loud. _

If Carlos wants to play that game, Lando can put some cards on the table, too. "Fuck, daddy, please, _ fuck me harder, daddy," _ he begs obscenely, and Carlos swears his vision wavers, but he obliges—anything for Lando, if it involves Carlos being pushy—and grabs the boy's hips.

"You are such a good little fucktoy, baby," he murmurs, his grip so hard it might bruise. (Somewhere in the back of Lando's mind, he hopes it does.) "My angel, my baby," he praises, dipping closer to kiss Lando's neck once more. "You are so beautiful like this."

Lando's legs are aching and his head throbs from the bumps he's gotten, but he's flushed and glowing, and when he twists around for a kiss, Carlos can taste the sweat on his face. It's good, it's all so fucking good he doesn't know how he's going to make it very long, because _ holy shit, _ there's nothing like the way Carlos knows how to fuck him. He's relentless but so attentive, and Lando knows he's being spoiled absolutely rotten. However, he's not above asking for more. "Daddy," he asks plaintively, between the thrusts rocking his body, "you said— _ fuck, Carlos _ —you said this time I could touch your hair," he says breathlessly, biting back the desperation bubbling right below the surface. It's not just the ignominy of dragging himself to his tiptoes and getting pounded against a cold blank wall, but his soul is always screaming at him to _ touch this man, hold him so tight he'll never leave, _ and Lando is as terrified of Carlos leaving as he is addicted to the softness of his hair.

"Mm, I did say that." Carlos nuzzles at Lando's neck, leaving breathy little kisses below his ear. "I want to see your pretty face, too, so we should fix this."

"Please," Lando begs, breathless.

He's never thought of himself as a jealous person—more admiring than lustful of other's abilities. But he is jealous about 1. the way Carlos can turn and brake at the same time, and 2. the effortless way Carlos turns him round and lifts him, with strong hands wrapped around his thighs so they're finally face to face, and sinks back inside him with an easy moan.

"Fuck, daddy, _ thank you," _ gasps Lando, his head falling back. He wraps his arms around Carlos' neck and pushes a hand through his thick hair. The movement alone is almost orgasmic, finally, and Lando runs his fingers through the smooth strands almost reverently.

He wonders what it would be like to have the kind of power that Carlos does, to make someone burn inside with only a firm hand and a lingering look.

Lando doesn't know what he wields himself, though, doesn't know the power in his pink cheeks and bright eyes and thoroughly kissed lips, and how he makes Carlos' stomach flutter and threatens the firm set of his jaw, but Carlos knows. He's pierced with his own weakness for this boy even as he leans in and leaves a hard, toothy kiss on Lando's soft throat. It'll definitely leave a mark, he realises—he'll have to help with concealer tomorrow.

Lando is stunning right now, an absolute mess, and it feeds Carlos like no other view. _ If anyone has perfected the art of being fucked, _ Carlos thinks, _ it is Lando. _ His shoulders are heaving with every shuddery breath he takes as he meets every thrust, eyelids fluttering as he struggles to keep wide eyes on his lover, and precum is smeared sticky and wet across his stomach. The head of his cock is pink and shiny with it, and Carlos can't tear his gaze away.

_ "Good _ boy," he gasps roughly, jerkily shifting a hand up to grab Lando's ass as he wraps his legs around Carlos' waist. It's a better position, and Carlos can shift his angle, fucking Lando with his natural weight now. It's rough and fast and _ tight _ and he knows he won't hang on much longer.

Lando rakes a hand through Carlos' hair, harder than he means to, and moans. "That's all I want to be," he says breathily, and tugs Carlos' face closer.

But they don't kiss, there's no tender moment of soft lips and hot tongues. "No, you are just daddy's personal cumslut," Carlos growls, holding him with a fierce grin and an unrelenting brown-eyed gaze that's more triumphant than menacing.

Lando's moan was inevitable, and Carlos revels in it. "Fuck—daddy—please, please," he cries brokenly. He's not even sure what he's wanting, so he just asks, "please, Carlos—daddy, talk to me, _ please." _

"You are always so desperate for me," Carlos bites out. "No, you tell me what _ you _ want."

Lando swears. "I want _ so much, _ Carlos, I want you and this and I want you to stay right here, fuck, and keep fucking me just like this," he begs. "I want you to call me every name you want," he confesses, turning crimson, "and I want to call you daddy. I want to keep my hands in your hair and kiss your forehead—" Carlos leans in, and Lando lands the kiss— "I want you to use me as hard as you want, I want to make you feel _ so _ good."

Carlos is biting his lip now, his grip tightening and his eyes bright. "Fuck, go on, baby," he breathes. He's rock fucking hard and the familiar static of a building climax is creeping over hot skin.

"I want you to cum inside me," Lando says desperately, gripping Carlos' hair. His breaths are shallow and quick. "I need it," he fusses, "right now. Please, Carlos, please—daddy—" and he arches his back, fists his hands in Carlos' hair, and parts his lips so tempting that for a moment, Carlos doesn't know who's really in charge here.

It's his last thought before the orgasm breaks him—_ fuck, baby _ —and he's lost it, collapsing into Lando and wrapping his arms around him, shuddering. He can't bite back his moan and he doesn't _ want _ to, groaning every breathless utterance of love right into Lando's ear. "You are so fucking beautiful, so fucking good," he swears blurrily, and Lando has the grace to admit that he's fucked.

_ "Carlos, I'm—I love you—" _

"Cum for me, baby," Carlos urges desperately, far gone on his own high, but his hands and skin and voice are all Lando needs to climax, his cock squeezed stiff and tight in the press between their bodies, and after the endless physical teasing, his orgasm is hard and _ really _ messy.

"Fuck, baby, you are so good," Carlos whispers to him soothingly, talking them both down from the exertion, gathering Lando into his arms again to cuddle on the sofa, albeit very carefully.

"Carlos," Lando breathes, loosening his death grip on the man's hair. "I'm sorry—"

Carlos hushes him. "No, no, no being sorry. You are so perfect."

Lando flushes, hiding his face in the crook of Carlos' shoulder. "I really fucking love you, Carlos. And I'm sorry that was so messy; you've got it all over and so do I—"

"Shh," he hushes again, then kisses Lando. "No being sorry, I said. Save your mouth for better uses than apologies. Like kissing." A horrible curious look crosses Carlos' face and he pokes experimentally at the sticky white fluid splashed across his stomach, then waves his hand in front of Lando's face. Instinctively Lando opens his mouth, but chokes as soon as he tastes the evidence.

"Or that?"

"What the _ fuck, _ Carlos!"

He receives no answer but a pointed look.

"God, _ please _ try that again sometime but not right now," Lando swears, but he's grinning.

"Trust me, _ okay," _ Carlos agrees, shaking with laughter, and he kisses Lando once more. "You beautiful boy."

"I love you _ despite _ that."

After a few moments, he speaks again. "We should both clean up," Lando says reluctantly. He's gross but too comfortable to move.

"Yes," Carlos agrees gravely, "long car trips are exhausting."

"Of course," Lando nods, but he can't hide his giggle.

Carlos folds him into his arms once more. "What do you feel like, bath or shower?"

"Bath. With you."

"And you want bubbles?"

Lando grins. He'll let Carlos pretend they're just for him. "Of course."

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday jesus, have some porn
> 
> title from carly rae jepsen, as is fitting for carlando. 
> 
> keep it lowkey, keep it classy, keep it off twitter and out of real life and away from the drivers. 
> 
> thanks for reading and for any comments <3


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